


Two's a Party but Four's a Blast

by alienor_woods



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Cunnilingus, Foursome, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, murven - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienor_woods/pseuds/alienor_woods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “If we’re going to have a foursome, it’s not going to be in front of an audience.” </p><p>In which Bellamy, Clarke, Raven, and Murphy decide to hook up. Together. All of them.</p><p>[Bellarke x Murven]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two's a Party but Four's a Blast

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely tied to [My Church Offers No Absolutes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3100394), a Murphy x Raven fic, and even more loosely tied to [In the Winter Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2724008), a Bellamy x Clarke fic, but you don't have to have read those. Just know that all three are canon compliant through 2x08.
> 
> HERE BE SMUT OF THE ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ VARIETY

Bellamy’s cabin is quiet, save for the crackling of the logs in the fire, until he looks over and asks, “Are you _sure_ you’re okay with this?”

 

His anxious concern was sweet and endearing…the first three times he asked. Clarke takes a deep breath and holds back a snarky retort; she does not want to start off with sourness hanging between her and Bellamy. In the dim light of the fire, the faint lines across his forehead and next to his eyes look deeper than she knows they are, but he’s also squinching up his face like he does when he’s worried about her. She rises from where she’s straightening the pillows on the bed and crosses to where he sits at the table. “I am. I promise.”

 

His frown only deepens, even when she cups his cheeks in her hands and smiles down at him. “I just don’t want you to feel pressured. It was just a dumb game, Clarke—“ Even when she’s twenty, and they’ve been at peace for years now, he still wants to protect everyone, even _her_ , and from _this_ of all things. So Clarke rolls her eyes before she leans down while he’s mid-sentence and presses her mouth against his.

 

He grunts a bit, a touch annoyed at being cut off, she’s sure, but she sucks on his lower lip to make him grunt again for a very different reason. “I want to, Bell,” she murmurs, even though the thought of it still makes her blush and a shiver run down her spine. It’s easier to compartmentalize when she thinks about it clinically, neatly, as something that is _healthy as long as all parties consent_ and not something that she, _Clarke Griffin_ , is actually involved in. “And you want to, right?”

 

She feels Bellamy tremble before he grabs her hips and pulls her sideways into his lap. He smells fresh and clean from his bath, and she can count the freckles on his cheeks when he nudges her nose with his. “I want to do everything with you,” he admits, his voice a low rumble. Anticipation and lust flutter in her chest, and goosebumps rise on her legs when he trails his hand from where it’d been straddling her kneecaps up the length of her bare thighs.

 

The thoughts of the night to come momentarily flee her head when his fingertips trace along the hem of her-- _his_ \--long shirt and he nuzzles her cheek. But then she remembers why she’s not wearing more than a big shirt and undershorts and she grabs his wrist. “Not yet,” she chides, but it comes out all breathy, and she can’t resist kissing him when he nuzzles her cheek, looking for her lips.

 

“Starting already, then?” Murphy drawls from the doorway, and then hisses at Raven when she shoves him for being rude (and also for lingering and not letting her pass into the cabin).

 

Clarke looks over her shoulder at them, but stays where she is because they’re both still very…dressed and she’s not so much. Bellamy’s palm snakes over her far thigh and he spreads his fingers wide over the skin beyond the hem of her shirt. “C’mon in, then,” Bellamy says in return, arching a brow as Murphy sheds his jacket and tosses it on a chair. It’s late spring and he’s just in a thin, long-sleeved tee underneath, Clarke notes, with plenty of mending along the seams and holes at the back collar where a label had resided, once upon a time.

 

“You said to be sneaky,” Raven retorted. “We figured knocking and announcing ourselves through a solid wood in the dead of night wasn’t exactly ‘sneaking.’” She pulled a skin from her shoulder bag and waves it until the sound of sloshing is audible to everyone in the cabin. “We brought w _iiii_ ne!” she sing songs with a bright smile, and Bellamy jerks his head at the shelf above the table with his handful of cups and plates. Murphy was already there, though, reaching up and pulling down four cups.

 

Raven pours them each a healthy dose of the fragrant red wine and lifts her cup. “To friendship,” she says, eyeing them each in turn. They repeat her toast and drink deeply—Clarke recognizes the wine as hailing from the Montkelo kin-group, their territory being blessed with fertile mountainsides perfect for grapes.

 

They sip in comfortably silence for a few minutes after—Bellamy’s thumb rubs soothing circles on Clarke’s thigh and Murphy helping Raven out of her jacket and tossing it on top of his own. “So,” Murphy finally says, letting the word hang in the air. “We’re still down to do this?”

 

Clarke looks to Bellamy, who stares back at her, then at Murphy, who turns to arch a brow at Raven, who rolls her eyes and heaves a sigh of exasperation before she walks over to Clarke and Bellamy, slides a hand into Clarke’s hair, and kisses her.

 

* * *

 

It starts with alcohol, of course.

 

More specifically, alcohol, an empty bottle, and a bunch of friends sitting in a circle.

 

Miller takes a swig of his drink and spins the bottle on the dirt floor of Clarke’s cabin. The group jokes and laughs and hums in anticipation as the bottle slows, and slows, until it lands on Monty. Miller waggles his eyebrows, Jasper cat-calls, and Monty leans forward, palms flat on the earth, so that Miller can plant a dramatic smack onto his lips.

 

Monty slips a squealing Octavia some tongue, and Octavia gives Bellamy a quick kiss on his cheek. Bellamy’s spin lands on Raven, who barks out a laugh and downs her cup of wine. Clarke has this fleeting feeling of “ _I should care more_ , _shouldn’t I_?” particularly when the rest of the group “ooohs” ominously. Bellamy pauses, catching Clarke’s eye, before he leans forward and kisses Raven.

 

Raven seems content to leave it chaste, until Murphy leans into the two of them and tells them that they look like a couple of primary school kids kissing behind the swing set. Clarke laughs out loud, because he’s not wrong, and Raven opens her mouth and slides her tongue into Bellamy’s mouth. “There it is!” Murphy grins wolfishly and kisses the corner of Raven’s jaw before she even pulls back from Bellamy, and while everyone shouts in unabashed approval, Clarke feels a sudden spike of heat between her thighs at the sight of Murphy’s mouth so close to Bellamy and Raven’s.

 

Bellamy cracks a sheepish grin at Clarke, drops his hand to her knee. She’s in leggings and can feel the warm weight of his palm. She grabs his hand and drags it halfway up her thigh. Bellamy’s eyes darken, but she doesn’t have time to return his stare because Raven’s bottle lands on her, and she slinks across the center of the circle to Miller’s “ _bom chicka wow wow_ ” and presses a sweet kiss to Clarke’s mouth. Raven tastes like the summer wine from up north, and the apple pie they’d had at dinner, and Clarke opens her mouth to lick into her friend’s. Bellamy’s fingers flutter on her thigh, and then Raven pulls back, teeth nipping Clarke’s lower lip.

 

Clarke kisses Jasper kisses Harper kisses Raven kisses Octavia (Bellamy _does_ look away at that one) kisses Murphy (who keeps it super, super short and closed-mouth _because Bellamy_ ), who smirks at Clarke when the bottle totters to a stop in her direction. His lips are softer than she’d thought, and, with her own eyes half-closed, she sees him flick his eyes to her left before he cups the back of her neck, turns her head, and deepens the kiss _because Bellamy._ And now it’s Bellamy who leans forward and says, “C’mon, Clarke, you just gonna let him lead you like that?”

 

So she pushes forward into Murphy’s mouth, mimics his girlfriend by snagging his lower lip with her teeth, and lets out a laugh when he grunts in surprise and opens his mouth to her tongue. “That’s my girl,” Bellamy murmurs in her ear, hand low on her back, and Raven crows when Murphy sits back on his heels and lifts his fingers to his lip.

 

“Found your fangs again, Clarke?” Murphy drawls with a slow smirk. Raven smacks his arm with the back of her hand in reprobation and Murphy catches her fingers, draws them to his mouth to nip at them.

 

Miller jerks his chin at Clarke, distracting her from the couple across the circle from her. “C’mon, girl, spin. And let’s all pray it doesn’t land on one of those three or the rest of us might be sitting front-row at a spontaneous orgy.”

 

“And I would pray against that because….?” Monty trails off, eyebrows raised comically high while Octavia gagged theatrically to his right.

              

Raven gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “If we’re going to have a foursome, it’s not going to be in front of an audience.”

 

Everyone around them laughs, including Murphy and Clarke, and Bellamy cuts his eyes sideways at her after he recovers from choking on his wine. She winks back at him, flush with wine and bravado, and spins the bottle.

 

The clock on Clarke’s ticks slowly towards midnight, and, respecting her gracious hospitality, her friends start to rise to their feet and head back to their own cabins. Octavia squeezes Clarke’s shoulder on the way out; Miller promises to host the next round of late-night fun. Finally, it’s just Raven and Murphy, whispering back and forth to each other while Bellamy helps Clarke gather up spare cups and blankets and set them aside for washing.

 

“So I know it was sort of a joke,” Raven says, grabbing their attention. Murphy reaches down and helps her to her feet and hands over her cane from where it leant against the wall. “But we’re down if you are.”

 

“Down? For what?” Clarke’s distracted, pushing in chairs and muttering for Bellamy to bring in some firewood before he leaves because she’s already stripped down to her tee and soft pants for the night and _really_ doesn’t want to bundle up again.

 

Raven just laughs and hooks her arm around Clarke’s neck. “To hook up. The four of us.” She catches Bellamy’s shocked expression and rolls her eyes.  “Don’t take everything so seriously, Bell. It’s only an offer. We’re not going to break into your cabins in the middle of the night and kidnap you.” She presses a kiss to Clarke’s cheek. “Just think about it, okay?”

 

A nod and a wave at Bellamy, and then she heads to the door, muttering curses about how stiff her bum leg was after so long sitting on the ground. Murphy smirks at Clarke and Bellamy’s stunned faces and lifts his hand to give them a jaunty two-fingered salute. “We’re out, lovebirds.”

 

The door swings shut behind Murphy, leaving Clarke and Bellamy in stunned silence. She turns her head to look at him, blonde hair whipping around her face, and he stares back at her with wide eyes. Surprise is an expression so rarely seen on Bellamy Blake’s face, and Clarke would have burst out laughing if she weren’t so shocked herself.

 

They finish cleaning up Clarke’s little cabin in silence because how do you even _segue_ from that line of conversation? When she turns from turning down her blankets and sees Bellamy looking at her from the middle of the room with a much more familiar expression, one that sends heat and shivers through her limbs, she snatches fistfuls of his shirt and yanks his mouth down to hers. The sex that follows is good.

 

Like –

 

\-- _really_ good.

 

* * *

 

Back in Bellamy’s cabin, Raven pulls Clarke to her feet and giggles against her mouth when Clarke’s fingers steal under her shirt and along her sides. “She’s ticklish,” Murphy informs Clarke. He steps up behind Raven and pulls her hair aside to slide his lips along the crook of her neck. His bangs brush against Clarke’s cheek; Bellamy’s fingers skate along the outside of her thigh.

 

“Clarke, too. Her back of all places.” Bellamy stands, slips his hand under the hem of Clarke’s long shirt to sweep his fingertips across her lower back. She shivers at the touch and lolls her head back into Bellamy’s chest when he does it again. A mouth pushes against hers—a different one, now—and teases at her lips until Clarke leans forward and wraps her arms around Murphy’s shoulders to keep him in one place so she can kiss him properly. Bellamy shifts against her back and grunts the slightest bit and Clarke knows that Raven has to be kissing him now.

 

And she is: slipping her hands under Bellamy’s shirt to push it high to his chest while he cups her jaw and angles her head to where he wants it. Murphy nips his way down Clarke’s neck and she rolls her head and sees Bellamy’s stomach twitch under Raven’s fingers. “Doesn’t make you jealous?” Murphy murmurs against her skin, even as he rucks up Clarke’s shirt to spread his fingers wide across her back. Like Bellamy’s, his hands are rough, catching her skin and sending shivers across her shoulders.

 

There’s a challenging glint in his eyes, though, and a twist of a smirk on his lips. Usually Clarke ignores Murphy’s sardonic remarks, or levels him with an icy stare. But tonight she looks back over at Bellamy and Raven and takes in the arch of Raven’s tanned body against Bellamy, the flex of his arms as he wraps them around her back to pull her closer, and relishes the swirl of heat low in her belly. “Not in a bad way,” she responds with an arched brow, and crosses her arms to pull her shirt up over her head.

 

Bellamy breaks from Raven at that, catches Clarke’s eye. She looks for anger, jealousy, or betrayal in his expression, but sees none of it—only concern.He’s got that crease of worry between his eyebrows, not soothed in the slightest by the brush of Raven’s lips over the corner of his jaw. So Clarke focuses her attention on him (a mighty feat with Murphy’s tongue lapping along the edge of her breast bindings) and reaches out to take his hand. She squeezes his fingers and gives him a gentle, sweet smile, runs her thumb across his knuckles until his brow softens.

 

Raven’s eyes flit back and forth between them, so Clarke winks at her. “He likes it when you kiss behind his ear.” And sure enough, Bellamy’s eyes flutter closed when Raven noses her way up his neck, and he pulls his hand free of Clarke’s to clutch at Raven’s hip. Murphy’s been watching from the corner of his eye and snickers against Clarke’s bound chest. She pushes at his shoulders and then twitches the front of his shirt. “Off.”

 

It’s stripped away in a heartbeat, and he takes the time to toe off his boots, then he backs her up to the table and hoisting her onto the surface with more ease than his lithe frame suggested. Their fingers fumble together as they work her bindings off of her chest and then his mouth falls hot and wet over a nipple and Clarke lets out a long sigh and pushes her fingers through his hair. Beside her, Bellamy sits down in a chair with a thud and a topless Raven slides into his lap, rolls her hips against his and laughs when he grunts. Her hair swings long and silky down her back, glints in the warm firelight as she moves.

 

Murphy trails his mouth all over Clarke’s skin, sucking and nipping and lapping until she’s twisting against him and he’s hiding his wolfish grins against her skin. “Stop teasing her,” Raven says, meeting Clarke’s eyes over Bellamy’s head, her own voice shaky thanks to Bellamy’s own ministrations.

 

Murphy rises up from where he’s been nuzzling the sensitive skin under Clarke’s breasts and braces his hands on the edge of the table. “She ruins all my fun,” he whispers conspiratorially, and then hooks his hands around her knees to haul her to the edge of the table and tug her underwear down her legs.

 

Raven breathes a shaky laugh when Murphy drops to his knees and slides one of Clarke’s knees over his shoulder. “Let him. He’s good at it.” And then her voice catches in her throat because Bellamy’s twisted his arm and Clarke knows he’s got his hand down her pants.

 

Murphy looks up at Clarke and gives her a slow blink while he runs his hands up to her hips, waiting for permission to lick her cunt with the same hint of insubordination he gives her when she orders him to take an extra patrol shift. So she brings her hand to rest on his head and gives him a nudge—not that he really needed the extra incentive.

 

His mouth is hot, his tongue quick, and just as Clarke comes to terms with the feel of his lips around her clit, he runs a hand up the inside of her thigh and two fingers into her cunt. A surprised gasp jerks itself free of Clarke’s chest and Raven laughs into Bellamy’s mouth. Murphy knows what he’s about, not worrying about taking his time or giving her the slow ride to the top like Bellamy does. It’s a relentless drive, an impending tidal bore instead of a cresting wave, and it’s all Clarke can do to grab onto the edge of the table for dear life.

 

The table shifts, a slim thigh brushes hers—Bellamy’s put Raven down next to her and then he’s leaning over to cup Clarke’s neck and kiss her even as she shakes against Murphy’s firm tongue. Smooth lips brush against her shoulder, then Raven’s voice is murmuring in her ear, her small palm coming to cup a breast. Clarke’s legs start to quiver and Bellamy lets her pant into his mouth and Murphy’s hand clamps down over hers like an anchor and Raven tells her she’s beautiful and tugs on a nipple, her nails catching on the sensitive flesh, and that’s it—Clarke arches silently, eyes screwed shut, Bellamy’s hand on her neck keeping her from crashing backwards onto the table. Her orgasm ebbs and releases her vocal chords so she can let out the long moan that’s been building below them.

 

With her eyes closed, she feels shifting between her legs after Murphy pulls his mouth and fingers from her. The arms that lift her from the table are familiar; Bellamy carries her to the bed and lets her flop across it bonelessly. With a kiss to her sternum and her shoulder, he stretches out beside her. The dance of his fingers down her arms and across her belly as she breathes deeply to anchor herself to reality, but it’s the moans and sighs from across the room that make Clarke open her eyes.

 

Bellamy’s got his head propped on his palm; Clarke follows his gaze to see Murphy crouched on the floor again, this time with his head burrowed between Raven’s thighs. “Is that what we really look like?” Clarke murmurs. She’s only ever been in Raven’s position, after all, and has never thought about what she must look like when her back is arched and head rolled back. Raven is beautiful, even more so than usual, but Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to pull his eyes away and meet Clarke’s.

 

He hums in agreement with her statement and leans down to catch her mouth. Despite his hard length against her hip, he kisses her with a gentle mouth, runs light fingertips down her neck and along her clavicle. Clarke’s skin goosefleshes in the wake of his trailing hand. Dimly, she hears Raven sigh Murphy’s name—his _first_ name—and the low hum of whatever Murphy says in reply.

 

She and Bellamy could lay here for hours like this, touching and teasing and whispering (and they have, many times). Restless energy still hums under Clarke’s skin, though, even after her toe-curling orgasm on Murphy’s tongue. She reaches down and grins at the little huff of a grunt Bellamy lets out when she wraps her hand around his cock. “Give a guy some warning.”

 

Given the easy roll of his hips into her loose fist, he’s being playful. Clarke flashes him a sly smile. “Where’s the fun in that?” Bellamy’s brown eyes twinkle at her in the firelight before he lowers them to watch her nipples pebble under the flicks of his thumb. Movement catches his eye—Raven sliding off the table and leading Murphy over to the mattress by his hand—and his forehead creases again. “Hey,” she murmurs, so only he can hear, and taps the dimple in his chin. “I love you.”

 

And just like that, the skin under her fingertip stretches as he smiles softly down at her. “You too, Princess.” Bellamy lets her hook her finger under his chin and pull him down to kiss her again, and doesn’t break away even when Murphy helps Raven kneel down on the mattress.

 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Raven drawls, lowering down onto her stomach and elbows. She presses a kiss to Clarke’s shoulder, then to her mouth when Clarke rolls her head away from Bellamy. For all of her snark and dry humor, Raven is a considerate kisser; she learns Clarke’s rhythm and matches it, teasing just enough to make it interesting instead of challenging. When she pulls back though, her eyes fall over Clarke’s shoulder, and she laughs. Clarke turns her head back on the blankets and rolls her eyes at the way Bellamy’s eyes have glazed over. Murphy’s not much better where he kneels beside Raven’s hip, with his hand wrapped around his erection. With his eyelids at half-mast and his hair falling over his forehead, Clarke’s first thought is that he looks more dangerous, but there’s something else, too. She meets his eyes—wide-set over that hooked nose—and remembers that Raven had said that he was ‘sex on legs.’ Clarke thinks she sees it now. (Bellamy would _never_ know.)

 

“This isn’t a free show, you know,” Raven says, and gestures between the two of them.

 

Murphy points at Bellamy. “What? Blake?” For once, Murphy looks caught off-guard. “Rave, I’ve never kissed—“

 

“Dude, just kiss me,” Bellamy interrupts. He pushes himself to his hand, and then leans across Clarke and Raven. Murphy hesitates, eyes darting across Raven’s gaze, then Clarke’s, then to Bellamy’s. “I’ll even let you lead.” Clarke bites the inside of her cheek at his patronizing tone and twists her palm over the head of his cock in reward.

 

As she’d expected, Murphy scowls at Bellamy. “Fuck you, Blake,” he bites out before he surges forward to meet Bellamy’s waiting mouth. Their teeth all but audibly clink together and their jaws drop open as each attempts to one-up each other in skill.

 

Next to Clarke, Raven’s just as impressed as she is, and distracted enough that she doesn’t notice Clarke’s sneaking fingers until they’re sliding under her hip and up through her curls. Clarke’s fingertips trip against Raven’s clit; Raven rocks her hips to the side and tries her best to swallow a moan so that Bellamy and Murphy don’t stop kissing. But when Clarke drags her fingers up to where Raven’s wet and then back down to circle and flick and slide against her clit, she can’t hold it back.

 

It’s Murphy who hears her, looks down to see her staring at them with Clarke’s hand in her cunt, and laughs. “They’re playing dirty, Blake.” Clarke feels Bellamy’s cock jump under her fingers when he turns his head, and all of the breath wooshes from her chest when she watches his pupils blow wide at the sight underneath him.

 

“I wanna be on top,” Clarke tells him and she thinks it’s the quickest Bellamy Blake has ever rolled onto his back in his life.

 

“And I wanna watch.” Raven hikes her good knee up under her to raise her hips, Murphy seizing them with a strong hand to both steady her and to line himself up. Occupied with straddling Bellamy, Clarke doesn’t see when Murphy pushes into her but she hears the moan Raven lets out when he does, and the slap of their flesh when he starts moving.

 

She lets Bellamy nudge the head of his cock against her clit before he slides it back and guides her hips down over him. “Oh,” Clarke sighs, head rolling back. “Oh, Bell.” He’s still holding her thighs down tight, eyes glazed over at the deep seat of his cock inside her, so she covers one of his hands with her own and swivels her hips forward and back. “Like that?”

 

His chest is already heaving but he helps set the pace, pulling and pushing her thighs until she has to brace her hand on his chest to fuck him as fast as he wants. “Shit,” he grinds out, moving the hand Clarke’s not holding to grab at her waist, then her breast. His thumb slides in maddening circles over the underside, where he knows she’s most sensitive, and she closes her eyes for a brief moment to focus on the feel of it.

 

Raven lets out a sharp gasp; Murphy’s hauled her off her hands and to her knees. She flings an arm back to knot her fingers in his hair while Murphy wraps an arm tightly around her middle to steady her against the snap of his hips. Clarke can hear the low thrum of his voice—he’s muttering into her ear, and whatever it is has Raven nodding and her breath hitching until he snakes a hand to the apex of her thighs, and then she keens out his given name and rolls her head onto his shoulder.

 

Underneath Clarke, Bellamy’s been watching, too, and when she gives him a breathless smile and runs her fingertips over his twitching stomach, he jerks her forward over him. Their mouths meet in a sloppy mash of lips and teeth, but Bellamy gives a contented groan anyway and thrusts up into her. Clarke hisses out a curse and Bellamy grunts out another before he does it again, pushing her hips back to meet his. She loves it like this, the angle, the speed, all of it, and she arches her neck back in pleasure. Bellamy presses his mouth to the curve of her throat and picks up speed until he can feel the vibrations of her moans against his lips.

 

“John, _please_ ,” Raven cries out beside them, need giving her voice a shrill edge. Murphy lets them fall back forward, Raven landing heavily on her elbows next to Clarke and Murphy leaning over her to work her clit with the same deft fingers that can tie down a tent in ten minutes flat.

 

Raven moans in relief, her face twisting into expectant pleasure, eyebrows pulling together incrementally as Murphy pushes her closer and closer to the edge. “C’mon, babe.” Murphy glides the tip of his nose over Raven’s shoulder blade, follows it with his lips. Bellamy’s cock hitting her in _all_ the right places is urging Clarke towards her second orgasm and Clarke wants Raven to join the rest of them, so she leans over the few inches and presses an encouraging kiss to the corner of Raven’s mouth. Raven turns her head, pushes her tongue alongside Clarke’s, and then shivers violently from head to hips as her climax sweeps over her. From the corner of her eye, Clarke sees her good foot rise from the blankets, her toes curling, and then Murphy is grinding out a string of curses and sitting back on his heels to spend onto the dirt floor.

 

“Are you close?” Bellamy asks, his voice a ground-out mutter against her ear, and Clarke nods and slips a hand between them. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“Talk to me.”

 

“Shit.” Bellamy pauses to adjust the press of his heels into the mattress and pulls her close until his mouth is against the ear farthest from Raven and Murphy. Her hair falls around them, the firelight filtering red and orange through the strands. “You look like a fucking goddess when you sit on my cock like this—Aphrodite or a nymph or something. And you’re so hot and wet, I wish I didn’t need to come so bad so I could just keep fucking you like this.” He huffs his chuckle against her ear, but Clarke doesn’t find it as funny, so close to the edge as she is. She keens out his name, fingers making tight circles and she can all but _taste_ the stars just on the other side of the wave she’s riding. He wraps his arms around her waist to pull her belly lower and she starts to tremble. “There you go. Come on, Clarke. You looked so fucking gorgeous earlier when Murphy made you come, the only thing he did wrong was not putting his tongue in you at the end to feel you come around it.”

 

And that’s it—she’s up and over the wave, arching her back so hard that her forehead presses down into Bellamy’s shoulder. The stars finally dance in front of her eyes, and their visit stretches out when Bellamy holds her waist fast with his arms and pistons up into her. Clarke twists her fingers in his hair and relishes the grunts he makes until they turn into the groan of his orgasm. His breath comes quick and harsh and she pushes herself up onto her palms, meets his half-closed eyes with her own as she gives a few slow rocks of her hips to make him twitch under and inside her.

 

Only when she’s sure he’s done does she lift off of him and settle down at his side. Raven is next to her, too, and Murphy beside her. For a few moments, only the crackling fire and their heavy breathing fills the room. Clarke peeks over at Raven and sees the other woman looking back at her, and the absurdity of the situation becomes too much and they both start giggling.

 

“What just _happened_?” Clarke gasps, and even Bellamy claps his hands to cover his eyes in disbelief.

 

Murphy rolls up onto an elbow, sleepiness clouding his eyes but not his smirk. “Whatever the hell we wanted.”

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> #lol. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> #no regrats #not even a single letter
> 
> PS: I'm on [tumblr](http://labonsoirfemme.tumblr.com/).


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